


Listen to the Music of the Moment

by khasael



Series: Hale and Hearty [12]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Dancing, Dancing Lessons, Jealous Stiles, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Original Character(s), Possessive Behavior, Scent Marking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-19
Updated: 2014-10-19
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:36:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2481542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/khasael/pseuds/khasael
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek might be having second thoughts about suggesting they take dancing lessons, but he'll never let Stiles know that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Listen to the Music of the Moment

**Author's Note:**

> Sorry for the delay on getting this one up. Work stuff went all to hell with short-staffing issues, and I got a whopping three days off in an entire month (as did the other two people in our kitchen). The next installments should go up much more smoothly, barring another situation where work eats me *crosses fingers*
> 
> Thanks, as always, to Groolover for the beta. Additional thanks to Byaghro for the technical beta, as my own experiences with learning to dance are limited to ballet and tap when I was quite young, and learning choreographed routines for cheerleading, choir, band, and theatre in high school and college (whole different animal, definitely). Any errors are my own and not theirs!

Derek has heard people say that love makes you do weird things. Stupid things, things that are unexpected, things you thought you'd hate, things a rational person would never do—all just to see the object of your affection happy. Maybe he'd even done a few such things, back when he was young enough that he thought he knew what love was, when all he'd really known was infatuation.

Either way, he's pretty sure this falls under that category.

Derek slouches a little more into his hard, plastic chair, trying to get more comfortable while still appearing at least somewhat engaged in what's going on, but sits up when Stiles nudges his knee with his own. "Dude. Do you hate me for this?"

Looking over at Stiles's earnest, slightly worried face, Derek just rolls his eyes. "I'm pretty sure you'll recall that _I_ suggested this." He gestures out to the room at large, where there are a handful of couples currently sweeping across the floor of the only dance studio in Beacon Hills. "So, no."

Stiles's leg twitches up and down. "Well, yeah, okay, maybe you suggested it. But I know you only did it because I _mentioned_ that thing the other week, about how I'd thought of my eventual wedding back when I was a kid—"

"I believe the phrase 'dance moves that weren't hellaciously awkward' was involved," Derek says with a small snort. "Which is why I thought you'd want to do this." He chooses not to mention how much Lydia Martin had featured in that bit of reminiscing, though he _is_ amused that, in some roundabout way, Stiles does still get to experience Lydia telling him what to do in regard to his wedding.

Stiles's face goes through about four different expressions before he sighs. "Yeah, okay. I'm not going to lie and say that this isn't my best shot for not looking like an idiot when we do our first dance thing. But are you really sure? Seriously, dude, you look really bored."

Derek shifts again as the song starts drawing to a close, the couples on the floor winding down in a way that looks incredibly graceful. "I'm not bored," he mutters, trying not to draw the attention of the other people who are sort of scattered around in the rest of the seats off the dance floor. "These chairs are just uncomfortable."

Stiles gives him a look, but fidgets in his own chair in a way that says he can't really argue with Derek's assessment.

The people who are sitting around the dance floor—potential students, like he and Stiles are, Derek assumes—all clap politely once the group is done with their dance, getting ready to move into another. When the music starts with something faster than the last song (which had been a waltz), which seems basic enough, and probably the sort of thing he and Stiles can handle, Stiles sits up a little straighter. Even his scent changes, going from a little apprehensive, a little uncomfortable, to interested, intrigued.

"I think I'm kinda feeling this foxtrot thing," Stiles murmurs at him about halfway through the new dance. "But I guess we'll see how the others look, before we make any decisions with the private instructors?"

Derek nods, focus going to the footwork of one particular pair of dancers. The woman, at least, is one of the instructors; Derek's spoken to her by phone twice in the last week and a half, and he recognized her voice even before she'd given her name at the beginning of the afternoon's appointment. Of course, she's a professional--and her partner is at least very good, whether or not he's also an instructor—and all of her movements make dancing seem easy. But he doesn't see anything that makes him think this particular dance is off the list of potentials for their private lessons. Which is good news, since they don't have a lot of time to learn before the big day.

Not every dance the group demonstrates, however, gets the same basic assessment.

"No," Derek says flatly, low enough that only Stiles can hear, as the couples shimmy around the dance floor two songs later.

Stiles's mouth twitches at the corners, and his eyes flick over to look at Derek's face. "No, huh? Just gonna flat-out ban this one?"

"Damn right." Derek pauses for a moment, watching the hip movements of all the men on the dance floor, and feels set in his decision. "Not gonna happen."

"All right," Stiles says with a snort. "No cha-cha for us." He looks both amused and relieved, and Derek's just glad there's no sense of disappointment in his response. Because even if Stiles manages to learn the footwork and everything else involved in the not-quite-three weeks they have left before their wedding, there is no way Derek can bring himself to dance around their friends and families, moving his hips like that.

The rhumba is also out, nixed by both of them, under their breaths, in unison. Derek's not sure what Stiles's reason is for it, but he personally has to veto anything that has 'boom chickie-chickie' as part of the dance steps. He may be in love, he may be willing to do stupid things, but there are _limits_ , damn it. A man has to retain _some_ semblance of self-respect.

All in all, the demonstration takes about half an hour, and then a few of the people sitting in the chairs linger for a while afterwards, chatting with the participants in the earlier dancing. Derek picks up a few fragments of conversation, hears that there are three other couples who want to learn for their upcoming weddings, two couples who are already married, one half of which mentions something about a bucket list, and a couple of single guys who are there for whatever reason. Stiles is standing at Derek's side, looking about as nervous as he smells, when the couple Derek had spent most of the time watching approaches them. "You're the Hales, right?" the woman—Tracy—says, smiling at them.

Stiles stammers for a second, because they still haven't actually managed to definitively figure out the whole nomenclature/label thing, regarding their last names, but eventually just settles for a nod and actual introductions. "Stiles Stilinski. And Derek Hale," he says, with a nod in Derek's direction.

She smiles at them even more widely, but it somehow manages to look genuine, not forced. "Tracy. And this is Diego." There are handshakes all around, and when they're through, Tracy cocks her head a little and gives Derek a more thorough looking-over. "You aren't one of Laura Hale's little brothers, are you?"

He doesn't wince, but it's a near thing. Funny how even a couple of years later, the unexpected mention of his sister can bring a little pang like that. "Yeah."

"I remember you! You were always outside, practicing with your basketball, when I'd pick Laura up to go out to the mall or for double dates. You...definitely grew up."

With a slight flush, Derek tries to smile back. He remembers Tracy now, in a vague way. He never really cared much about the other girls his sister hung out with, back in school, but he has distant, blurry memories of one with similarly curly blonde hair pulling into the driveway and honking the horn of her ancient Ford truck, Laura practically sprinting out of the house the same moment and diving into the passenger's seat, already halfway out the door by the time the horn sounds, thanks to being able to hear the truck's engine before it even drove onto the Hale property. There's another memory of this girl dressed up with his sister and a few others for homecoming, and a few other snippets of recollection that Derek could probably place better, if he thought about it.

He wonders if she even knows what happened to Laura, or just figures they'd lost touch through the years, and thinks she'll run into her at the next class reunion.

Derek isn't sure if Stiles senses his brief moment of sadness in some way that doesn't take a werewolf's nose or ears to register, but it doesn't matter, because whether the way he moves, angling his body into Derek's just a little, is intentional or not, the closeness and intimacy breaks Derek out of his thoughts just enough. Instinctively, Derek raises a hand to rest against Stiles's shoulder blades. It's become habit already, even this early into their relationship—casual touches, fitting their bodies together in different ways, both in public and in private—and Stiles, as usual, feels so natural and _right_ , this close. Tracy even drops the topic in favor of grinning, flicking her eyes to Diego for a moment in some wordless bit of communication before addressing both Derek and Stiles. "So. You two ready to hop right into your first lesson?"

Stiles's face takes on that sort of vaguely grim, determined look it used to get before lacrosse games, on the occasions Derek lurked around the bleachers to watch Stiles and Scott and his betas play ( _mostly_ to make sure no one slipped and wolfed out and mauled one of the humans), but he nods. "Yeah, totally. Let's do this."

Both instructors grin in a way that says they've had students like Stiles before, people who aren't necessarily naturally graceful, who might have some challenges in the world of dance, but who are at least determined. "Well, first things first," Diego says, looking at them both. "Who's going to be leading?"

"Oh, definitely Derek, are you kidding me?" Stiles blurts before Derek can really even look at him, because they haven't actually discussed this, either. He flushes when Diego laughs, but shrugs one shoulder. "Trust me. It'll be better for everyone involved if he leads and I follow. Not that I don't lead other times. But, yeah, you know." He clears his throat and gives Derek an embarrassed little look, and Derek thinks that he—they, really—should be glad Stiles stopped himself right there.

"And you're comfortable with that?" Tracy asks Derek, still professional, even though Derek can _smell_ the amusement on her.

"Yeah."

"Good."

They hash out their overall expectations for the lessons for a moment—today it'll be just the waltz, a basic box step that shouldn't be too hard to memorize and then practice at home, and maybe next week they'll try something like the foxtrot, if Stiles still wants to give that one a go and they feel like doing more than one actual dance at the reception—before the instructors demonstrate and talk Derek and Stiles though watching their very slow version of the waltz. It really doesn't seem complicated to Derek—he's done more complicated things in basketball, let alone in most of the fights he's been in during his life—but Stiles still smells nervous.

"Relax," Derek whispers before lightly nudging Stiles towards Tracy, so they can each learn their own steps before trying to bring the dance together. "You've done harder things—"

"During lacrosse practice, yeah, I know," Stiles mutters.

"Actually, I was going to say you've done _harder things_ last night. And again, this morning, in the shower," Derek says, totally nonchalant. He can't even really hide the smug satisfaction on his face when Stiles chokes a little on a bit of startled laughter, obviously not expecting Derek to stoop to that sort of innuendo, especially out in public.

Stiles is a terrible influence, really. 

Derek has a fairly easy time picking up the basics from Diego's instruction, and even Stiles seems to be doing well, over with Tracy. Once they switch partners, however, so they can each dance with someone who knows the reciprocal steps, Stiles's scent takes on a decidedly sour tang.

Jealousy.

Derek smells it before he even gets a look at Stiles's face to confirm it. It's far from overpowering, just present enough to make Derek's nose twitch in that direction. But it's still there, and grows just the slightest bit sharper when Tracy's left hand, resting lightly on Derek's right arm, gives Derek's bicep a little squeeze as she makes a comment about his muscle. It's not really flirting—there's no scent of arousal or any sort of interest like that from her at all, and Derek just takes it for a good-natured joke, some innocuous bit of friendliness with the little brother of her old friend. But Stiles, apparently, does not take it quite so casually.

It's the sort of thing that Derek has to bite his tongue about, because sometimes Stiles can go a little overboard when he's feeling stepped on...and, before it hits that point, the more primal part of Derek really kind of enjoys knowing his husband is invested enough to _feel_ jealous. Maybe it makes him kind of an asshole, but, well...oh well. At least he doesn't play it up. Much.

In fact, Derek's actually well-behaved this time. Part of that, of course, is because he can feel Stiles boring holes into them with his eyes as they move around the room, Derek and Tracy making much more progress in the whole "maneuver around the room while still doing the appropriate steps" lesson than Diego and Stiles are. Diego seems to be having a somewhat difficult time getting Stiles to give up trying to lead and just _follow_ , and if Stiles wouldn't retaliate later, Derek might dance by the pair of them and tell the man good luck getting Stiles to listen and to not take over the lead on pretty much anything.

When they finally get to the point in their lesson where the instructors step back and have them dance together, Derek manages to discreetly nip Stiles's ear while Tracy's back is turned and Diego is cuing up the music. "Someone smells a little jealous," he murmurs, rubbing his nose behind Stiles's ear and along part of his jaw. Stiles can't smell it the way another wolf could, but he knows well enough what the behavior means.

"I am n—" he starts to protest, then seems to remember Derek can smell it on him, not to mention hear the lie, even if it weren't obviously just a knee-jerk defensive response. "All right, yeah, fine." He sneaks a look at their instructors, neither of which are looking at them still, and runs his palm down along Derek's cheek, over his jaw and down his throat. "Though two of us can play at this scentmarking thing, asshole."

Derek grins, takes a playful nip at Stiles's hand, which still lingers on Derek's skin. "That was kind of my intent just now, actually."

Stiles snorts, rolling his eyes. "Of course it was." Still, he looks a little pleased, and then grins a little mischievously. "As long as you know who you belong to."

Humming assent, Derek moves to stand beside Stiles as their instructors approach. They're directed into proper positions before the music begins and, though Stiles had looked like he was getting the hang of the dance steps just a few minutes ago, now he's stiff and hesitant in Derek's arms. They can both hear Diego tell Stiles to just follow Derek's lead over the music, but the called direction only makes Stiles falter even more in his footwork, moving forward when he should be moving back, pretty much crashing completely into Derek.

Stiles calls out an apology to everyone in general, then flicks his eyes up from his own feet to meet Derek's. "Regretting your life choices now?" he mutters, getting a little off-step as Derek tries to get them through a partial turn, in order to actually move them around the dance floor.

"Nope."

Stiles raises his eyebrows a little, a skeptical little smirk on his face. "Yeah, okay, whatever."

It takes a little while, a couple of pauses taken to stop and correct either of them on form, but eventually they start to get the hang of the waltz, of moving together. It helps immensely when the instructors get Stiles to stop trying to look down at his feet as they dance, and it goes even more smoothly when Derek's able to distract Stiles with little bits of conversation, keeping him from overthinking and just _following_ when Derek leads.

"You know," Stiles says at one such interval, sounding far too casual, "I know we can't do the traditional stuff, but this is nice, too, y'know?"

"Traditional stuff?"

Stiles manages to shrug with his left shoulder, even with that arm raised to balance on Derek's right. "Yeah, you know. The mother-son dance, and the father-daughter one." Derek just raises his eyebrows. They've been over this stuff. A few times. Some of those conversations are wistful, and leave Derek feeling a bit raw, but Stiles doesn't have that sort of sad scent around him just now, and Derek has just the slightest tinge of wariness about him, because he knows Stiles well enough to be able to sense when something weird might be coming.

"...Right."

Stiles flashes a thumbs up at Diego and Tracy as they circle around near them again, making Derek snort softly, before he catches Derek's eye, a smirk firmly on his face. "But you could still dance with my dad, if you want to. I mean, if you don't think you'd feel too awkward."

The thought of sharing a waltz—or any other dance they've seen demonstrated tonight—with the sheriff doesn't exactly rank high on the list of wedding experiences Derek has envisioned. Derek's not actually sure who that would be more awkward _for_. Still, he just hums, until a different visual strikes him, and then he can't help but open his mouth. "I'll dance with your dad. If you dance with Peter."

Stiles goes immediately pale and stumbles, and Derek uses a bit of his supernatural reflexes to keep him from going down completely. Once they've recovered their momentum, back on track, Stiles looks up at Derek with his big, brown eyes and swallows so hard that Derek can hear it, even through the music. "I take it back, oh my _God_."

Derek laughs heartily, nearly fucking up his own footwork, totally unable to keep it in. And if Stiles actually _has_ managed to step on his toes hard enough to break two of them—which heal before the next time they make it around the dance floor—well, Derek can live with that.

Because it was worth it.

**Author's Note:**

> [Note: 25 May, 2015] Despite the length of time since the last update, I promise this hasn't been abandoned. The next installment is...significantly longer, and nearly done, but there's been some IRL upheaval that's kept me from being able to sit and finish the last ~20% of it until just recently. But I promise, it IS coming.
> 
> [Note 2: 12 Feb, 2016} No, really, I _swear_ it's not been abandoned. Life's just gone all...yeah, you know. But things are settling nicely, which means I can finally sit and write again.


End file.
